


… With a smile. (And Terai hats. And rather characteristic blades.)

by Aeshna etonensis (GMWWemyss)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GMWWemyss/pseuds/Aeshna%20etonensis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a trope is punched up like a cushion, and the four members of Direction Force find themselves on the receiving end of heroic rescue, courtesy of HM Forces and a strapping young subaltern of a very particular, special, and justly storied Regiment. One which has no want of superpowers.</p>
<p>After which, there shall almost certainly be tea and cakes. And biscuits. The NAAFI ones, with the pink sugar.</p>
<p>Even superheroes want heroes, sometimes, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	… With a smile. (And Terai hats. And rather characteristic blades.)

**Author's Note:**

> (This is another ending-to-a-story-I-likely-shan’t-ever-actually-write. Sometimes, however, tropes simply want to be whacked into better shape, if only so that one dislikes them less, after. There are few superhero – supervillain crises, in my view, which cannot be resolved simply and less messily with modern weaponry and the deployment of HM Forces.)

* * *

‘Impervious to – oh, really, that simply must be absolute balls, Martin.’

‘Apparently it’s not, sir.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Major-General Brabazon-Colley sighed. The duties of his appointment – Major-General Commanding the Household Division and General Officer Commanding London District – were a trifle onerous on paper. The unwritten duties which were rarely spoken of even as they were never committed to writing … were rather more so. ‘So we cannot simply send in a section with orders to fire the proverbial “five rounds, rapid”? Very well. There are other means. Let’s have the GSM in, shall we?’

* * *

_They always exulted,_ thought Zayn, with no small annoyance. Bloody supervillains. Simply couldn’t _not_ boast. Well, perhaps if they kept her rabbiting on, something might turn up.

‘By midnight, my powers will have absorbed all of yours: and those of anyone else fool enough to try to stop me. _I_ shall be The Mab, Queen of the Peri, absolute ruler of both worlds, the Seen and the Unseen! And none of you can do anything to stop me. Your powers avail you nothing; and as for your rosary,’ sneered she at Niall, ‘it’s as useless as _your_ prayers to your Allah –;’ a nasty look at Zayn, which he returned with interest at an extortionate rate – ‘and as for you two batty-boys –,’ Harry and Louis looked positively murderous at that – ‘the idea that your all-conquering loooove for another can defeat me … humans are such _vermin._ You make me want to sick up. When my powers peak, I have plans for you that will make _you_ ill, oh, yes. Shall I tell them to you in detail, to pass the time? Of course, you _are_ already reduced to the level of mere human vermin, and your powers are now almost wholly _mine,_ that ought by rights to make you sick enough; but now you _are_ mere human vermin, I think I’ll have some fun, making examples of you. _I_ know, Zayn, we’ll start with _your_ fate! Now, first, I look forward to....’ 

* * *

Garrison Sergeant Major Doogan, Irish Guards, had suggested in thirty seconds the solution the GOC London District had already privately evolved. It was, after all, in its way, obvious. Who – or what – ever this overpowered bint was, if ‘bullets didn’t bite on her’ then the clear alternative must be resorted to. Evidently, she’d forgotten to provide against weapons most people no longer thought of using.

Which meant, thought The Badge, Shorncliffe. 

* * *

One thing the four of them were, thought Zayn, was stoic. Well, when necessary; when it wasn’t, Niall was a merry madman, Haz was … Haz, and Tommo was a walking exercise in camp, over-the-top dramatics. (Zayn merely sulked, brooded, and smouldered, but he wasn’t acknowledging that.) And a good thing, too, that stoicism. This … _thing_ … had a truly depraved imagination, and revelled in anecdote.

Even if keeping her banging on – and it looked rather as if they’d have more trouble _stopping_ than encouraging her: windy cow – did _not_ in fact mean rescue should arrive in time, or that her concentration should slip so that they could turn the tables on her without their powers, there was at least the prospect they’d die of boredom before she could do all these unspeakable things to them. 

* * *

‘I’ve just the chap.’ The Colonel was all but rubbing his hands with glee. ‘Sound, _practical_ young officer: from the Midlands. Not a bookish sort: sporty, rather. Used to run: they thought of picking him for the Olympics for Team GB, but he just missed out. Not a swot and very much not one of your public school old boy Ruperts – thank God: nothing against the usual run of Guards officers, of course, but we, like the Scots regiments, require a … special sort of officer – and not a harrier any longer, but very much in training and, well, sometimes his English gets tangled, you’d think it wasn’t his native tongue, but an odd and unexpected genius in the language which _does_ matter in the Brigade. Of course the Johnnies are convinced, therefore, that he speaks _their_ mother tongue as a native, and that English is his second language, and that it is a divine jest that he has one of their souls born into the body of a young Englishman from Wolvo. ’D follow him anywhere: well, of course that’s true of them as to any officer in the Brigade, but they also know most of the time they’re really _beside_ their officers or even leading them, but not with him, they literally feel they _follow_ young Li- – ah: and here he _is_. Liam, dear boy, a little job for you and a platoon. All to be done with the blade: no shots to be fired. It’s in London.’

Mr Doogan, the GSM London District, looked approvingly at the largish young subaltern. He could see the lad was no harrier in these days, having clearly put on a deal of muscle without becoming bound by it; he had a friendly face and mild eyes, the body of a trained soldier who was specially fanatic for fitness even by Forces standards and could box for England, and … if the way his eyes had just lit up at the ‘treat’ he was being offered, of taking a platoon to take down a more than mortal threat without the use of firearms, meant anything, he had the mind of a happy warrior. Not to say, berserker.

‘ _Ramro,_ ’ said Young Mr Payne, with sincere and delighted gratitude. 

* * *

‘– Irish, you at least ought to have known not to cross me or any of my Folk –’

‘Right, sorry to interrupt, but my orders are to secure the release of these gentlemen and bring you before the GOC London District.’ The speaker was a … well, reflected Zayn, a wet dream in PCS-CU No. 8 dress, with the face of a fit and sporty cherub (and the eyes of a spaniel). His rank slide had two pips on it; the beret on his close-cropped head was Rifle-green, and the Tactical Recognition Flash on his arm was, from this distance, a sort of wonky black saltire on a green field. His voice, with its competence, confidence, and West Midlands warmth, went, found Zayn, straight to his, Zayn’s, balls. If they must be rescued by someone (it was a bit shame-making, really: superheroes were meant to be the ones _doing_ the rescuing), well, thought he, this was precisely the lad he’d wish to be rescued by.

Herself evidently thought less highly of the newcomer. ‘How did you find – it doesn’t matter. I –’

‘I should tell you,’ said Zayn’s new knight in shining battledress, ‘I am hardly alone. I have a platoon.’

She laughed cruelly, this would-be Queen of the Peri. ‘ _Soldiers._ Mortal, vermin soldiers. You fool, you could have an army with you and it would make no difference.’

‘It may not be something you’d be aware of,’ said the subaltern, ‘but – as my beret indicates – we are a Rifle regiment.’

Now she really did cackle with laughter. ‘You truly are a fool, mortal! What is your name?’

‘Payne. Liam Payne.’

‘Oh, how droll. Pain, yes, I think there shall be. You poor fool, and your men – I suppose you “have me surrounded”: it’s simply _too_ cliched –, are doomed.’ (Zayn, listening, winced: he hated it when ‘cliched’ was used in place of ‘hackneyed’. That they were all perhaps going to die did not mitigate the enormity of crimes against the language.) ‘I have done rituals the Infernals themselves would be repulsed by, and they have worked: for I did my research, and no modern weapon can touch me. Shoot your rifles, and watch, and know you are doomed.’

‘Ah.’ Lt Payne seemed, thought Zayn, if anything, amused. ‘I didn’t say we were here to _shoot_ you; I merely mentioned that ours is a Rifle regiment. I suppose you may as well learn now which one. Are you quite certain you won’t come along quietly?’

She sent a bolt of sickly mauve energy towards him. He leant to one side and let it pass harmlessly by.

‘I’ll take that as a refusal, then. Sergeant!’

With a sneer, the entity turned ’round, prepared to meet rifle-fire with impunity.

The last thing she saw was the flash of blades; the last thing she heard was a shout many others have heard in their last living moments: _‘Ayo Gorkhali!’_

Against a platoon of Gurkhas from 1 RGR and their kukris, not even the Fae are, it turns out, immortal. Fortunately, when they are destroyed, they also leave no mess, save a small amount of fluffy and harmless ash. It had naturally been, quite literally, impossible to have _captured_ her.

‘ _Ram ram,_ ’ smiled Lt Payne, as his men grinned and the sergeant nodded grudging approval of their handling of the operation. The riflemen were already loosening the bonds of the four captives and checking them over for injury.

Lt Payne found himself, as being nearest Zayn, tasked with helping untie him. _‘Namaskar; kasto cha?’_ He blushed. ‘Sorry, I tend to forget to use English. So. Hullo. Are you all right?’

‘’S all right. Like. I do that with Urdu, sometimes. And, yeah, hullo, ’m fine – and _thank_ you.’ Zayn found that he also was blushing. ‘Are _you_ all right?’

‘ _Thik cha,_ ’ came the automatic, unthinking answer: _I’m fine._ And then: ‘Oh!’ Lt Payne’s face shone. ‘You – you’re –’

‘British Pakistani, yeah.’

‘Well, yes, but … you’re the Zap, aren’t you? You’re my favourite – not just in the Direction Force, but, really, my favourite superhero.’

Zayn simply stared at him, gobsmacked. ‘I. You.’

‘“And everyone we knew –”’ Liam half-sung it, and then hid a giggle in a shrugged shoulder.

Zayn sputtered for a few seconds. ‘Wang Chung? You are seriously quoting a Wang Chung lyric … Lt _Payne_....’

‘’S “Liam”: I mean, if you like, _dhai._ ’

‘Then it’s Zayn, yeah, babe?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘ _You_ rescued _us,_ Liam. You and your men are the superheroes. And. Yhvarlygdvce.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You. Um. You’ve a really good voice. And good taste in, like, oldies.’

‘Christ, don’t call it that, m’ Dad _and_ the Colonel’d have fits, they were our age when Wang Chung was popular. And they don’t take kindly to the term “oldies” for anything newer than they are by two decades.’

‘I. Okay. Yes.’

‘Mistah Payne, Sah!’

‘Yes, Sergeant, I know. Gentlemen? I think you’d best come with us to report. After that, well; I’m pleased we could be of service to some of those who keep the country safe.’

Niall, who’d tuned out the Harry-and-Louis we-survived-death-let’s-all-but-shag-in-celebration goings-on to watch in silent glee as Zayn and this human Staffordshire terrier fell for each other over three minutes’ span, shook his head. ‘Jaysus, we’re not but four eejits with special talents, it’s yourselves are the bravest men on earth.’

‘My men are,’ said Lt Payne, earnestly. ‘I merely have the honour of being, the good fortune to be, their officer.’

Sgt Gurung caught Niall’s eye. Niall – or, to be precise, Lucky, one of the four superheroes making up Direction Force, with Zap, Stag, and Swallow – was, after all a telepath, and Sgt Gurung came through perfectly clear. _He is not merely our officer. By Kali, he is Gurkha, heart and soul, he only_ looks _like an Englishman._ Niall nodded. He knew that already. Was he not, after all, a telepath?

‘I hope,’ said Liam, earnestness turned Up to Eleven and only pretending to address all four of the rescued superheroes, ‘it shan’t take long to get you gentlemen sorted and debriefed. It was – it was a great honour to meet you all. And. _Pheri betaunla._ ’ Niall knew at once that this applied mostly to Zayn, although he made certain Liam meant it, in a way, as to the rest of them. ‘That is: I hope we meet again.’

Louis’ eyes turned an icier and electric blue – the blue of precognition and prophecy – for a moment before fading. ‘Oh, we shall do, mate. I _know_ it.’

Zayn hid a smile. And Harry, as earnest as even Liam could be, spoke, slowly, in that gravel-and-honey voice of his, ‘Thank you. All of you.’ And Haz being Haz, Swallow, with his special powers, he was able to say it again, in Gorkhali: _Dhanybhad. Thank you._

‘Not at all,’ said Liam, politely. ‘Now. What we’re going on with, is, I’ll lead the way to the means by which we infiltrated – I hope you can all abseil –, please don’t get lost, and we’ll whistle up transport to Horse Guards....’

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have been away, unavoidably (editors' deadlines are not flexible; least of all when a sudden anthology opportunity arises). I hope this is some recompense.


End file.
